Bridal Shopping
by ChibiAnimeFreak
Summary: A story in which a wedding dress isn't all Lovina is searching for. Fem!SpainxFem!Romano. I blame Say Yes to the Dress.


_My excuse: I've been watching too much Say Yes to the Dress. But I just love wedding dresses~! They're so beautiful~! *dreamy sigh*_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, blah, blah, blah. _

o.O.0.O.o

Lovina had known she would hate it.

The lights were bright and blinding, the carpets the kind of plush that threatened to snag your heels with each step, and the heat was set stiflingly high. Not to mention there were rows upon rows of _them_ lining the shop. They were on display high above the main floor, decorating many a mannequin, and even arranged in rows along seemingly every open wall in the room, all of them watching Lovina, scrutinizing her with their lace and beading. _What are _you_ doing here?_ They seemed to ask her as she entered into the main salon, followed by a much more comfortable Antonia.

The Spanish woman came up beside Lovina, grabbing the Italian's hand in her own and giving it a light squeeze. Lovina could feel the ring on her fiancée's finger where it bit into her flesh, imagining the simple golden band with its delicate diamond arranged in the middle. She had a matching one on her own hand, a hand that was stuffed in the pocket of her jacket to stave off the bitter winter city air.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Antonia whispered into Lovina's ear, an obvious smile in her words.

The Italian nodded jerkily, her stomach twisting into knots as hazel eyes thoroughly examined the hundreds of dresses lining the shop. The hundreds of _white_ dresses.

Before Lovina could go into more of a panic attack, a young woman came up to the couple, her black hair cutting in a harsh line across her cheeks and a smile plastered on her face. "Welcome to Hetalia Bridal," the woman greeted. "Do you have an appointment?"

Lovina's mouth went dry. She was immediately grateful to her fiancée when she answered with a smiley "yes," allowing the woman led them off to a small sitting area to await their salesperson.

As they sat, Antonia released Lovina's hand in favor for resting the one squished between them on her fiancée's thigh. The Italian squirmed as the rough embroidery of the stiff couch scraped the backs of her legs. She felt her palms moisten as they gripped the edge of her skirt apprehensively, eyes darting around the shop.

Lovina would admit the dresses really _were _beautiful, what with their delicate lace and elegant silk, their puffs of tool and intricate beading. She loved searching through the magazines and all over the web for them, seeing the sometimes achingly beautiful models as they posed in the most expensive and stunning dresses of the season. But wearing them herself…

"Do you know what kind of dress you want, Lovi?" Antonia asked suddenly, startling Lovina out of her thoughts.

Lovina pursed her lips, eyes dropping to her shoes. It was a good question, really, and one that had been pressing at the Italian's mind since they made the appointment. She knew she was always more reserved, more of a person for simple garments and nothing too outspoken. She didn't like making a statement. But with wedding dresses, that was the whole point. You were supposed to stick out at your wedding, not fade into the background, as Lovina was always prone to try to do.

"I think I have an idea," she finally offered unsurely.

Antonia grinned, completely missing her fiancée's antsy behavior. "I'm so excited to see you in a wedding dress~!" she cooed giddily, hand squeezing at Lovina's again before finally releasing it and instead resting on the Italian's thigh.

"Yeah, yeah, big whoop," Lovina muttered, her cheeks pinking despite the words.

But green eyes didn't break from the Italian. "Are you excited, too, _querida_?"

Cheeks went from pink to a deep red. She would sooner die than admit it out loud, but the idea of Antonia in one of those stunning gowns wasn't such a horrible thought to the perpetually embarrassed Italian. Maybe it was more than just not horrible. Maybe it was even something she would _like_ to see.

Before she was forced to answer, though, another woman approached the two of them. Unlike the first one, this young lady had flowing pale brown hair and striking green eyes that reminded Lovina of Antonia's, though with a mischievous edge that gave the Italian chills.

"Good afternoon." The woman smiled amicably. "I am Elizaveta and I will be helping you today." She glanced between the two seated woman. "Antonia and Lovina?"

Antonia smiled up at Elizaveta with her usual affability. "_S__í_. I am Antonia, and this is my fiancée, Lovina." The Spaniard squeezed Lovina's thigh as she said her name, making her twitch.

Elizaveta flushed lightly, clasping her hands before her chest as if praying. "You two are so cute~," she squealed.

Lovina huffed, clenching her hands into fists, and Antonia patter her thigh comfortingly from where it rested there, chuckling. "_Gracias_."

Smiling adoringly for a moment longer, Elizaveta finally shook her head slightly. "Okay, well, let's get started, shall we?"

As Lovina followed Elizaveta through the salon and into one of the back halls, her heart began to pound in her chest, butterflies rushing through her stomach as if in some attempt to fly free. The hallways seemed endless, narrowing in on Lovina as the trio walked through them. After what seemed like hours, the two brides-to-be were led into one of the small dressing rooms.

The décor was simple and white, giving off a very wedding feel, and there were assorted chairs framing the sides of the room. Pictures lined the walls, most of them of stick-thin models wearing a multiplicity of wedding dresses. Mermaid, ball-gown, A-line—the list was endless. There were two things they all had in common, though: they were all gorgeous, and they would all look horrible on Lovina.

Elizaveta seated herself in one of the white embroidered chairs, and gestured for Lovina and Antonia to follow suit. They obeyed, each taking their own seats in the white, embroidered chairs on the wall directly to the right of her.

The next minutes passed in a blur. Questions were asked, lots of them. Style? Designers? Price? It always came down to price.

"Under five thousand Euros for each," Antonia offered, looking to Lovina in confirmation.

It had been a long discussion, but in the end Lovina convinced her fiancée to let her pay for the majority of both gowns. Antonia had grown up with little money, and although she was now beyond accustomed to Lovina's more high-end tastes, she had still been hesitant to accept that, since Lovina was bringing in the bigger paycheck, she should be the one to pay for the majority of the wedding.

"I don't want to be up there on the alter next to you in a trashy hundred Euro dress," Lovina had finally said to persuade her. It was a lie, of course, and Antonia had known that, but it had also been one of Lovina's first admittances of how they were, in fact, getting married in only eight months, and that kind of openness Antonia had learned to cherish.

"But we're willing to go higher if we need to," Lovina butted in before the Spanish woman to her left could object, ignoring her warning look.

Elizaveta glanced between the two women, a single eyebrow raised questioningly. But she didn't comment, instead saying, "Okay, then." She stood up. "Why don't we start pulling dresses?"

Lovina swallowed the knot in her throat, nodding jerkily in agreement before rising from the itchy chair. The three women exited the dressing room, filing down the hallway and back towards the light at the end of it. They emerged back into the main salon moments later, the open room helping somewhat with Lovina's steadily encroaching nerves.

"It's arranged by designer," Elizaveta explained. She gestured to one of the walls. "Over there are the dresses more in your price range, but you're free to explore if you'd like, just be careful of what you pick. You don't want to fall in love with a ten thousand euro dress if you can't afford it," she warned. "I'm going to pull a few dresses for the both of you myself, and when you're ready I'll meet you in the dressing rooms. Lovina, you'll be in the one where we met, and, Antonia, you'll be in the one across the hall. See you in a few." And then she was off, skittering out of view and, Lovina assumed, into one of the back rooms.

When the saleslady was gone, Antonia turned to her fiancée. "Actually, before I start, I'm going to go wait out front," she informed.

"Why?"

Antonia laughed uneasily. "Uh, well, I'm expecting Francois and Gillian…"

Lovina groaned. "I thought we agreed that if I didn't invite my brother, you couldn't invite your friends."

"I invited Feliciano, too, actually," she admitted. "And Francois and Gillian were _dying_ to come. They wouldn't take no for an answer. You know how they can be when they want something. If I hadn't invited them, they would have come anyways."

Lovina scowled. "That potato bastard isn't coming, right?" she groused.

"I didn't explicitly say he could come, but I didn't say no…" Antonia said hesitantly.

The Italian's scowl deepened, but rather than blow up as Antonia was expecting, she simply sighed. "Fine," she acquiesced. "But." She pointed a warning finger at her fiancée. "They had better be on their fucking best behavior."

Antonia smiled cheerfully. "Lovi, they'll be fine~," she assured.

Lovina scowled unbelievingly. "Just go get your stupid friends," she ordered.

"Thanks, Lovi~." With that, the Spanish woman wandered off towards the front door, Lovina's hazel eyes following her movements. Well that was just great. It was hard enough to reveal anything of herself in front of Antonia, the person she loved most in the world, but with the entirety of the infamous Bad Touch Trio in attendance it was doomed to become nearly insufferable.

With her hopes set even lower than before, Lovina tore her eyes from her Spanish fiancée and instead directed her attention to the reason she was there in the first place: the dresses.

She began her walk towards the nearest aisle, the dresses coming into more and more focus, becoming more and more real the closer she came to them. When she finally reached the silk-covered creations, Lovina ran her hand down the row as she walked along it, feeling the protective plastic under her hands before pausing at one in particular. She grabbed it, pulling it back so she could see the front, a second later moving past it and observing the next one. Moments later she moved on again. She continued like this, once and a while staring at a particular dress for endless minutes before reluctantly pushing it aside.

There were so many gorgeous dresses, so many she would love to wear. But as soon as she imagined herself in them, they became ugly and malformed, their beauty lessened exponentially, and the gowns reduced to nothing more than a shadow of their former selves.

Despite this nagging thought, Lovina did grab a couple. Simple dresses, with nothing more setting them apart than a dash of lace, a bit of tool, but reserved enough that they would at least aid in her fading into the background, if nothing else. When she reached the end of the line, two were in her hand, clutched to her as if somehow they would run away if they were to be given the chance.

But, as Lovina's eyes dragged themselves away from the last hanging dress, they met one of the mannequins. Immediately, she felt her heart pick up speed in her chest, and her mouth opened in a little stunned "o". The literally breathtaking gown was still simple and reserved, at least in the traditional sense of the word. Lace was the main attraction, with three-quarters sleeves completely composed of the vintage material, and the entirety top layer of tool was as well, though with a sheerer feel. A sweetheart neckline was accentuated by lace trimming, though judging by the way it sparkled in the light there were little jewels dashed in here and there, and the skirt was shorter than was traditional, but still full and with a fair amount of poof. To top off the whole look was a small pink bow wrapped around the middle and tied in front, right where the bodice met the skirt.

It was exactly as she had imagined it: _her_ wedding dress in all its glory.

"Are you ready, now, dear?" Elizaveta's voice interrupted Lovina's stunned thoughts.

"Yes," she answered distractedly, not breaking her gaze from the dream of a dress.

The perceptive saleswoman stole a glance between Lovina and the mannequin. "Do you want me to find that dress for you?" she asked.

Lovina swallowed. "No." She finally tore her eyes away from the expensive gown. "Let's go," she demanded, walking off towards the dressing room before Elizaveta could get another word in.

Before following her reserved Italian customer, Elizaveta stole one last glance towards the gown on the mannequin, smiling quietly to herself.

"Femke, could you set aside a thirty two of this one for me?"

o.O.0.O.o

Lovina held her arms up as the ever-helpful Elizaveta yanked yet another dress over her head. When her head was finally clear of the suffocating white material, the Italian studied herself via the mirror across from her as the brunette behind her pulled the dress tight over her chest and fastened it with the usual clamps so the gown hugged her curves tightly.

"So what do you think of this one, dear?" Elizaveta asked, coming out from behind Lovina and placing a hand on her bare shoulder.

Lovina examined herself in the mirror as she had been doing for the past half hour. The dress was lovely with its A-line figure and intricate beading down the left side, and the silk shone in the dim dressing room light. But all Lovina could see how _she_ looked in it. Hazel eyes caught the way her skin puckered over the top corners of the dress, how shapeless she looked, awkward bulges here and there.

"It's…" Lovina hesitated, "it's great."

"Do you want to show your friends?" Elizaveta questioned, eying her customer through the full-length mirror.

Lovina scowled. "They're not my friends," she grumbled.

"Your brother, then."

"I…" Lovina's eyes scanned her reflection again. "No," she finally decided, shaking her head. "No, I don't like this one very much. No."

Elizaveta eyes shone with worry. "Are you sure you don't want to just show them you're still alive?"

The Italian stepped down from the pedestal, shaking her head again. "If I don't look good in the dress, I don't want to show them."

"But you look—"

"I just don't want to, okay?" Lovina snapped tersely.

Elizaveta observed her customer concernedly, watching as the Italian walked over to one of the other dresses hanging off the wall. "This one next," Lovina demanded, pulling at another of her own picks.

The Hungarian saleswoman obeyed, sighing heavily. "You know," she said as she worked on un- and redressing Lovina, "maybe if you hear what they have to say it will help you decide."

Lovina considered the words, gaze locked on the floor. "Maybe," she admitted, "but if I don't like the gown, then why should it matter if they do?"

Elizaveta squeezed the corset tight, effectively silencing Lovina. "It could help you see through their eyes, is all I'm saying," she revised. With that, she stepped back, giving Lovina room to judge herself yet again.

Lovina didn't respond, but almost as soon as she saw herself in the mirror, she began shaking her head furiously. "No. No, I don't like it." She turned from the mirror, glaring instead at the floor.

"You really should show—"

"No!" Lovina barked, sending a glare at the saleswoman through the mirror.

Elizaveta paused in her movements to console the Italian, hand frozen in midair, fated to never reach the shoulder it was aspiring to rest upon.

Lovina directed her gaze to the floor again. "Could I just—take a break? Please?" she mumbled questioningly. Guilt gnawed at her stomach, and her shoulders hunched inwards. All she wanted right then and there was to go home with Antonia so she could wordlessly curl up in her fiancée's arms and drink a cup of the Spaniard's world famous cocoa. There she would be sheltered and not set on display. There she would be comfortable.

The Hungarian nodded numbly, quickly working the dress off the tired Italian before mutely filing out of the small room.

"Um," Lovina spoke hesitantly, the pained sound stopping Elizaveta in the doorway, "could you send Antonia in here?" she asked. "Please."

Green eyes softened. "Of course, dear." And then she was gone.

Pulling on the knee-length, silk robe left for her once the door was closed, Lovina sat on the plush corner chair, arms crossed and hunched over so they rested on her knees. Hazel eyes studied the grey-blue carpet as she waited for Antonia, following the contours and patterns in the floor absentmindedly.

Why was she torturing herself? The last thing Lovina wanted was to prolong the experience of wedding dress shopping any more than it had to be. With all of the other stress from the wedding—the likes of which Lovina was almost single-handedly planning—she would take any break where she could get it. Whatever happened that day, Lovina was determined to get a dress.

Whether or not she loved it was optional.

"Hey," a familiar voice that sent warm feelings spreading across her chest called into the carpeted room.

Lovina lifted her head to see Antonia's head peeking meekly past the door, her body hidden behind it. Her heart jumped in her chest as she met the beyond-concerned face of her fiancée, eyes swimming with a mixture of emotions, the majority of them directed at the discouraged Italian.

"_Querida_," the Spanish woman cooed, opening the door the rest of the way. She twisted around and closed it behind her before rushing over to her fiancée. A single tanned hand caressed the side of the Italian's face as Antonia lowered herself in the chair next to Lovina gently.

"_¿Qué pasa?_" she questioned lightly, petting the slowly reddening cheek.

Lovina barely registered the matching robe her fiancée was wearing before tears began to cloud her vision.

"_N-niete_," Lovina sniffled in reply. She felt the usual emotions building up in her throat, threatening to push the tears over the edge.

Antonia's gave Lovina a disbelieving look. "You and I both know that's not true," the Spaniard pressed, continuing with her soothing motions. When Lovina remained silent, Antonia directed the Italian's face towards her own. "Lovi, please tell me what is making you sad. I don't like it when you're sad—it makes me sad—but I can't fix it until you tell me why."

Lovina contemplated her next words, letting her mind focus on the familiar, soothing Spanish woman next to her. "Th-the dresses," Lovina tried after a pause. "I…" she hesitated.

"Hm? Do you not like them? We can go somewhere else if you want," Antonia compelled.

"No, that's not it." Lovina shook her head slightly, but without enough force to knock the comforting hand away. She maybe kind of just might have liked the feeling a little. "It's just… I don't know…"

"_Querida_," Antonia asserted, "_sabes que te amo, ¿sí?_"

Lovina nodded jerkily, determinedly setting her gaze away from her fiancée.

"_Entonces, me tienes que decir lo que te preocupa_," she reasoned.

"It's just," Lovina hesitated, but continued after an encouraging nod from her partner, "the dresses d-don't look any good on me." She blinked rapidly to quell the burning in her eyes that was most definitely not from looming tears. "They're all so fucking gorgeous hanging up, but then I put them on, and they look stupid, and ugly, and I hate them."

Antonia swiped a finger under Lovina's eye, catching a rogue tear.

"And I hate me," the Italian added in a barely audible whisper.

Before she could even think of what she had just admitted, Lovina was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug by the master of bone-crushing hugs herself: Antonia.

"Fucking hell—" Lovina exclaimed, any further protest silenced by Antonia's muttering.

The Italian strained to hear what she was saying, but when she did, she almost wished she hadn't. A blush unlike any other Lovina had experienced roared across her face like a wildfire, burning her cheeks mercilessly.

"_Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo__…_" Antonia whispered the words like a mantra in Lovina's ear. "My Lovi is so pretty. My Lovi is so beautiful, so kind. _Te amo, te amo__…_"

Lovina squirmed in the embrace, mind whirling with such an overwhelming embarrassment she feared her unprepared brain would short-circuit from the overpowering compliments she was receiving. One would think that living with a woman like Antonia would have gotten Lovina used to a plethora of adulation, but it was quite the opposite. Rather, the more the Spaniard flattered the timid woman, the more animate the reactions became.

"Stupid _cagna_," Lovina muttered, "stop with the lies alre—_hey!_"

She cut off with a shriek as Antonia began pressing feathery kisses across her face. The Spaniard punctuated each peck with a new compliment until Lovina stopped writhing and instead resigned herself to sit still, face aflame with what she was sure would set off the fire alarms any moment.

"I." Kiss. "Love." Kiss. "You." Kiss. "So." Kiss. Kiss. "Much." Kiss. "You are." Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. "Adorable." Kiss. "Beautiful." Kiss. Kiss. "Lovely."

Antonia continued for what felt like an eternity, showering her fiancée with all the love she could muster, until, finally, the tears that had been threatening Lovina since the arrival of Antonia spilled over. Stopping in the bestowing of gentle kisses, the Spanish woman enveloped Lovina in a loving hug. Lovina's head dropped to rest on Antonia's shoulder. Silent tears ran down her cheeks and the sleeve of the Spaniard's robe—not that she seemed to mind too much. Warm hands ran across Lovina's back in soothing circles.

"Now let's see about getting you in a dress that's as beautiful as you are, hm?" Antonia suggested, pushing Lovina to arm's length so she could meet her eyes.

The Italian wiped across her teary eyes with the back of one hand, nodding nearly imperceptibly.

Antonia placed one last kiss on Lovina's brow before rising, and pulling the Italian after her by a single hand. The Spaniard departed for the door, promising to send Elizaveta back in when she met her in the hall.

Lovina watched as the door closed behind Antonia, and deflated again. Although a new hope was blooming in her chest, she couldn't help but let the old insecurities come back again. This had happened before: Lovina had broken down, and Antonia had consoled her time and time again. By now she should have been tired of it, or at least wary of Lovina's tendency to under-appreciate herself, and over-beautify the world around her. Because that was one of the problems: Lovina had a talent for seeing the beauty in the simplest of things—Antonia being no exception—and in comparison she found herself as underwhelming and mediocre.

But she wasn't, and with the steady reassurances of Antonia, she was beginning to believe that. It was slow in the coming, but this was nothing but another milestone she could one day look back upon from further along that road of belief.

The door opened, bringing Lovina back to the task at hand. In walked Elizaveta, but she wasn't alone. Draped over her shoulder was another plastic-wrapped dress, one that looked all too familiar.

Immediately, Lovina's mood was back. She scowled. "I thought I said not to grab that one," she huffed.

Elizaveta merely smiled. "I think it's worth a try, though," she pressed. "Come on, dear. Let's get this on you."

Grumbling under her breath about inadequate saleswomen, Lovina obediently pulled off the robe and allowed Elizaveta to pull the dress from the mannequin over her head. Butterflies flitting in Lovina's stomach as she stepped up onto the platform once again, and faced the mirror.

"Hold it tight, dear," Elizaveta spoke from behind her.

Lovina obeyed, clutching the sculpted bodice against her chest as Elizaveta pulled the seam closed and clamped the excess material so it hugged the Italian's body as it was designed.

The dress wasn't very form fitting, though, Lovina realized now that she could see the dress close up and on an actual body, specifically hers. She found she liked that better than the more straight gowns she'd had on before, with the satin that lined her body all the way down, sloping along her curves and hips. It wasn't the most surprising thing; Lovina had never taken a liking to very tight clothing, hating how the cloth showed every detail of what laid beneath, and the feeling of the material rubbing directly against her skin.

This dress was anything but that. It was an almost-ball-gown dress, with a usual sweetheart bodice that sculpted her body in the most beautiful way, and a semi-full skirt of nearly all lacy tool. It tickled her ankles as she stood, and the three-quarter sheer lace sleeves rubbed against the otherwise bare skin of her arms in the most wonderful way. The pink bow in the center might have been gaudy on a different dress, but it completed this one perfectly, the icing on the cake, as it was.

Lovina's limbs tingled as she surveyed her reflection, and it wasn't until she felt her cheeks aching that she noticed she was smiling.

"Do you want to go out, dear?" Elizaveta interrupted Lovina's revelation. She was smiling, too, and it was obvious the saleswoman was aware of their striking gold.

Lovina took another moment to view the person in the mirror—for surely it couldn't be her. Hazel eyes ran from head to toe and back up again, not finding anything to latch onto and base a dislike on.

She liked the dress, maybe even loved it, and there was nothing she could do to stop that feeling from rising within her.

"Yeah," Lovina finally agreed.

Nearly beaming, Elizaveta opened the door. "Let's go then! Hold the skirt up, now, dear. There you go," she peppered advice as Lovina stepped down to join her. The saleswoman held the door open as Lovina walked past, and directed her towards where her "friends" were lying in wait for her big reveal.

They walked down the hallway, Lovina concentrating solely on trying not to trip on the gratefully shorter than average dress. The trip was like a slow descent into hell for Lovina. For every step she took, she began to doubt herself more and more, the diffidence slowly conquering her mind. Lovina could no longer see herself, so she could no longer be sure of the beauty she had seen before. The memory was still there, lodged in her mind, but it refused to surface properly.

They say that each time you remember something, it isn't the original memory exactly, but rather has a flaw within the intricate setting. That was very much what Lovina was facing at the moment: she was still seeing herself, only she was doing so with the imperfections, the dimples and fat pockets and awkward markings.

When the two women finally rounded a corner to see the too-familiar faces peering expectantly at them, Lovina was more than second-guessing her choice to present herself to the two thirds of the Bad Touch Trio now present and her brother.

"The bitch lives!" Gillian exclaimed when Lovina reached the group.

They were in a large open area with a multiple pedestals and mirrors arranged much like in her dressing room. Each had its own group of randomly assorted couches and armchairs facing the place where, Lovina supposed, she was going to be standing.

"Fuck off," Lovina growled. She stepped up onto the pedestal and faced her friends, nodding as Elizaveta said something about checking on Antonia.

"Ignore her, _ma cherie_," Francois commented, waving a single manicured hand flippantly. "Gillian is just tired of seeing all the class she lacks."

"_Halt den mund_, Franny," Gillian grunted, a very Lovina-like scowl gracing her pale features. "It eez not my fault zat not all of us can be a _snob_ like you," she mocked in a fake French accent, pointing her nose to the ceiling and folding her hands in her lap in much too ladylike a fashion for the usually gruff woman.

"I do not sound like that!"

"Do."

"_Non!_"

"_Oui!_"

Gillian smirked as Francois practically boiled.

"Oi!" Lovina shouted. "If you two fucking _cagne_ do not stop acting like children I will personally smack you so hard you'll forget what you were even arguing about in the first place!"

"But she started it!" Gillian whined.

Lovina's glare at that moment could make a stronger woman than Gillian tremble in fear. "I. Don't. Fucking. _Care_," the Italian seethed. "I came here to by a dress for my _wedding_ and if you two aren't going to help me do that, then Goddamn it I will kick your asses out of this salon so fast you'll land in the fucking _future_."

_I swear_, Lovina thought, _if those two weren't Antonia's friends I would have stuck the mafia on their asses years ago_.

Unaware of her silent threat, but more than conscious of her verbal one, the two women sealed their lips.

Now suddenly more self-conscious that the attention had again returned to her and the dress she was wearing, Lovina coughed lightly, and turned to face the mirror, fingering the material of the bow wrapped about her waist.

"So," Lovina asked hesitantly, "what do you think?"

"I think you're beautiful, _Sorella_~."

The Italian blinked, glancing through the mirror to her brother, the likes of who she had almost forgotten was there. His face was no less airy than usual, but it held a kind of awe that wasn't there all too often. Unless, of course, he was trying a new pasta dish, but Lovina was uncertain if there even existed a type he hadn't tried. There was no doubt Feliciano liked him some pasta.

But she digressed.

Regardless, warmth blossomed in Lovina's chest, and the earlier doubts evaporated.

"I think you are a fool for not coming out earlier and showing your dear friends more of your delicious body in these gorgeous dresses," Francois added, a flirtatious smirk pulling at her glossed lips.

Gillian wiped the expression off the Frenchwoman's face with a sharp jab to her friend's arm. "She's engaged, dumbass."

"Yes, and I would appreciate if you did not rape my fiancée with your eyes, Francois."

Lovina snapped her head to the side at the sound of the Spanish-accented voice, her breath immediately catching in her throat as she saw what she was wearing. It was a _very_ form fitting mermaid gown with flower-like tool accentuating the flair and the neckline. Little rouged cap sleeves hung just below her shoulder, showing off a delicate collarbone and a dipping down just low enough to show the beginning of her ample cleavage.

Lovina had always known Antonia had curves a any girl would envy—or, in Lovina's case, drool over—but this dress seemed almost as if it were made to emphasize exactly that. Which it probably was, now that she thought about it.

Antonia smiled at the look on Lovina's face, which must have been projecting pretty clearly what she was feeling if the faces of the others around her were anything to go by.

"Oh, Lovi, _querida_, you look stunning," Antonia gushed, walking over to join her fiancée in front of "their" friends. With a barely forceful nudge to her side, the Spaniard directed Lovina to turn to face the mirror with her.

"Look at us, _amor_," Antonia spoke. "We're getting _married_." An excited-nervous grin dominated her features. "_¡__Ay_, _Dios mío. __¡__Vamos a tener una boda! ¡No puedo creerlo__!_"

Antonia wrapped an arm around Lovina's waist as best she could from her lower height. Though, really, they weren't too far off now, Lovina noticed with a bit of annoyance. Stupid tall bitch. But maybe she _could_ understand the sentiment a little. Just a little.

Then Antonia faced Lovina, pulling both their hands together. "I get to be your wife, Lovi!"

Lovina's face lit up, the red clashing with the rosy pink of the bow on her dress. "Don't say stupid stuff like that," the Italian muttered.

"Why? Because it makes you feel happy?" Antonia giggled.

Lovina smacked her fiancée out of pride, but a smile tugged on her lips. "Just being with you does that," she murmured into the Spaniard's ear, and this time it was Antonia's turn to blush.

"_Te amo_."

"Yeah, yeah, _ti amo_."

o.O.0.O.o

_Eight months later…_

"I do."

As her almost-wife pronounced the words that brought her that much closer to being just her wife, Lovina stared up into her endless emerald eyes. Such an overwhelming reel of emotions was bouncing around her body, threatening to throw her over the edge any second.

Since the two of them had already said their own vows, all that was left was the official sign-off by the priest.

"And do you, Lovina Romano Vargas, take Antonia Fernandez Carriedo to be your wife?"

There was no doubt in the words when she replied, "I do."

"Then you may kiss the bride."

And did she.

Later that night, Antonia led Lovina onto the dance floor for their first dance as a wedded couple. It was official, which Lovina resented, but romantic, which she loved.

Her heels clicked as she entered onto the wooden floor, followed hastily by Antonia, who wasted no time in getting them in a normal dance position. The Italian's arms were draped around her _wife's_ neck, and _her wife's_ were rested along the curve of Lovina's waist.

"How come you get to lead?" Lovina grumbled.

Antonia chuckled. "Do you know even know how to?"

"No," she admitted, "but it's the idea that counts. You should at least ask."

"Would you like to lead, Lovina?" Antonia asked formally, her face looking anything but.

"Hell no," Lovina grunted.

Another chuckle. Then the music began.

The Italian immediately recognized it as the one the two of them—Antonia and Lovina—had instructed the DJ to play at that exact moment. It was soft and dear, and although it was less of a love song than simply a loving life song, Lovina thought it was perfect. Because wasn't the whole point of getting married finding that person to make you love the rest of your life more?

And to love yourself more?

As the song progressed, the two drifted closer together, eventually coming to rest completely in one another's embrace. Usually Lovina would have felt each of the pairs of eyes pressing into her back, intimidating, but right now, all she could think, feel, smell was Antonia.

After a few minutes, the song drifted to a close. Another came on, and with it other people hoping to dance the night away. As the dance floor began to get a bit more crowded, Antonia whispered something in Lovina's ear, to which the Italian nodded vigorously in response.

The two filed off the dance floor, managing to sneak under the noses of some vague family members, and out the large French doors. They emerged into a small courtyard centered around a fountain with no water. It was a flawless moonlit night, and the stars winked at the newlyweds as if wishing them luck on their journey.

Lovina shut the doors behind her, blocking out the noise of the party, and instead welcoming the calm of the nighttime.

Antonia had already drifted over to the fountain and sat on its edge, and Lovina followed her. Rather than sit, she gazed at the stone ledge derisively. "You're going to get your gown dirty sitting there," Lovina accused her wife.

"I'm taking it off in a little while anyways," Antonia replied, winking up at the Italian.

"Be careful or I'll push you in there," Lovina warned, taking a seat next to Antonia despite her words.

As soon as the Italian's bottom hit the ledge, the Spaniard grabbed her and pulled her over so they were sitting as close as possible without being in one another's laps. "I think I'll take my chances." Antonia nuzzled Lovina's neck, and grabbed one of her hands to hold in both of her own.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Antonia sat up again. She gazed at Lovina, simply studying her face with a light smile and the gentlest look the Italian had ever seen on her new wife's face.

"You are so amazingly beautiful," Antonia finally spoke, rubbing the back of the hand she had in her grasp with her thumb.

A blush crept its way onto Lovina's cheeks. "You're not so bad yourself," she admitted, not meeting the earnest green eyes staring at her intently.

"I love you so much, Lovina."

"_Ti amo troppo, la mia amore_."

o.O.0.O.o

_That. Was. Long. God. Gaaah. I seriously couldn't find a place to end it. But it's over now so yay. _

_So I typed half of this almost as soon as I got back home, then let it sit on my computer for two weeks with only about two thousand words typed, before coming back to it what now is yesterday (damn it, 1:40). So much for getting back on a normalish sleeping schedule for school. Only one week left T_T_

_AND I have pictures of the two wonderful brides in their respective dresses posted on my deviantart! The link to my page is on my profile, so feel free to visit if you'd like~! They're pretty obviously labeled, so whatever._

_Oh, and the song I mentioned is _"E Da Qui" _by Nek. I seriously recommend it. It's practically my favorite song ever. _

_Chibianimefreak out~_


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